


An American Werewolf in Paris

by FlameBlownWhiter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cannon continued, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:50:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameBlownWhiter/pseuds/FlameBlownWhiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Isaac/Scott fic<br/>Prompt: One runs away and the other comes to bring them home. Also, cannon continued. This all happens ‘cause Chris makes an off-handed remark about leaving Isaac in France… blame the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An American Werewolf in Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nitpickyabouttrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/gifts).



Paris was beautiful in the rain. 

Isaac walked along the edge of the Seine, his generic black umbrella both providing anonymity and keeping him dry. The constant soft rainfall was turning the night-dark river silver. It was Fall and the linden trees that lined the pathway were flush with red, yellow, and orange canopies. The cobblestone steps were covered in fallen leaves, their broad heart-shaped bodies lining the way - like blood slicking the road. 

He was heading back to the boat house for the night. Mr. Argent had rented it when they had arrived almost two months ago. Just a week later Argent had left - the pack... Scott was in trouble. He had asked if Isaac would come, but he couldn’t. Thankfully, Mr. Argent didn’t ask why. He just packed his things, and told Isaac to finish the mission and wait to hear back from him. 

Isaac had finished the mission three days later. A month after that, Mr. Argent called to tell him he wasn’t coming back - that he had work with other hunters. That Isaac should go home. When Isaac tried to explain that he didn’t have a home, Mr. Argent gruffly disagreed. “Pack is home, Isaac. Once you’ve gotten yourself straightened out, you’ll know where to go.” 

The irony that a hunter needed to tell him that pack is home was not lost on Isaac. He just needed time. Though he had plenty of that. He hadn’t been back to Beacon Hills since June - almost six months ago. The pack had already fought certain death, again, and even though Isaac felt some sort of guilt for not being there for Scott, he hid it well behind grief and uncertainty. 

The thing was, Isaac had no reason to think that Scott would want him back. 

That was the thought that plagued him - why would Scott want him? He had been a horrible beta. He’d slept with Alison, he’d pursued her even though it made Scott uncomfortable, and then he couldn’t even protect her. It left a hole in his chest, as if he had been the one to feel the katana’s strike. That Scott had trusted him with something so precious, and he couldn’t… 

He missed Alison, he’d always miss her, she was his first ...his first a lot of things. But it wasn’t the grief of her death that made Isaac run from Beacon Hills. It was guilt, guilt that he had disappointed Scott, that Scott hated him for letting him down. It was that thought that ripped him apart. 

Isaac stopped to watch a river cruise drift by, its lights shining misty in the water. He took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes. Paris smelled awful, but in the rain it seem as though the city was being washed clean again. The trees along the river, even decaying, smelled of wood and moss and living. He missed the forest. 

He didn’t like the boathouse; it was too cramped sometimes, too small. So he took a lot of walks around the city. The city, for all of its tall buildings and stone streets, had a certain intimacy about her, and in the two months he’d lived in Paris he’d gotten to know her pretty well. The Seine was his favorite part: the wide avenues along the banks and the natural turns of the river, the bridges filled with street performers and lovers. 

He could hear them coming. The couple at the bridge, the woman’s heels clicking on the wet stone as they turned towards him. Their voices were low, flirtatious, and the man was saying some very forward things in French that made the girl giggle softly. It was light and tender, the sound of affection, but not the sound of forever. Something like a cherry blossom, beautiful and delicate, but only for a moment. 

He just stood there breathing deeply, enjoying the solitude, calming his heart and trying not to think of the one person he was always thinking about these days. He let the calm voices of the couple wash over him, let himself remember Alison, smell the rain, and enjoy the open air. 

They must not have seen him, or didn’t care, because one moment Isaac was standing still actively not thinking of pack, and home, and him, and the next he was stumbling towards the edge of the river, the man’s shoulder having made contact with Isaac’s back. Normally, he would have been able to flip and catch himself, but the cobblestone was wet and slippery with leaves. The heel of his foot gave out from under him, sending his umbrella flying into the river, pioneering the future trek of his body. Overbalanced, Isaac gave up and steeled himself for a fall, before his arm caught hold of something - or rather, something grabbed hold of his arm. 

The man pulled Isaac back against him and it was then that he realized it couldn’t be the Frenchman with the wicked tongue. That man had been tall, taller than Isaac. The body behind him was shorter and firm and smelled like over-ripened apples. 

“Scott?” Isaac’s voice almost broke with emotion, his heart tight in his chest. He knew it was Scott, could feel him, smell him, clear as day now. He’d tried so hard not to think of him, and now, presented with the reality of him, he just wanted to throw himself at Scott, beg for forgiveness, and go home. He felt shattered, as if half of him was here, in Paris, in the life he was making for himself, and the other half was that boy, the scared boy in Beacon Hills. He didn’t know which one to be. 

“Yeah, are you ok?” Scott helped Isaac steady himself and backed away, leaving Isaac’s back suddenly cold and open to the rain. When Isaac didn’t answer, Scott continued. “I’m sorry to just, you were falling and I… I was…” 

“Following me?” Isaac said, turning towards his Alpha, his very wet Alpha. Scott’s curls were falling into his eyes, his black shirt like a second skin - Isaac had no idea how long Scott had been out here, but it looked like a long time. 

“Something like that.” Scott smiled wide and bright and Isaac’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Tracking me?” Isaac asked, his blue eyes questioning. 

Scott rubbed the back of his head, smiled in a way that made Isaac think somehow of both Stiles and Melissa, and nodded. “Yeah? You weren’t at the boathouse.” He said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, like he wasn’t completely shattering Isaac’s world just by being there. “You weren’t easy to find,” Scott said, sounding almost proud. “You did a good job masking your scent, but I could feel you.” 

“Feel me?” Isaac berated himself for sounding selfish - following me, tracking me, feel me! But, he couldn’t help it; nothing Scott was saying made sense. Belatedly, Isaac realized he was asking the wrong questions. 

Scott nodded, placing a hand over his heart. “In here. It took me longer than scent would, but I found you.” 

“Why?”

Scott squinted his eyes and gave Isaac a confused look. “Because you’re pack.” 

“No, not why could you feel me. Why are you here?” 

Scott’s dark brown eyes were like tar pits, ensnaring Isaac, refusing to let it go. “Because you’re…” Scott trailed off, rethinking, letting the word “pack” die on his lips. Licking his lips, he continued. “Because I need you.” 

Isaac shook his head. Scott wasn’t here and this wasn’t happening. Scott couldn’t afford to fly to Vegas, let alone Paris. This was some dream, or illusion, or… 

“I need you, Isaac. The others, they are strong, we are strong, but it isn’t the same. I tried to give you the space you needed, after, but… Isaac, come home.” 

Scott was only standing two feet from him. Two feet, drenched from the rain, in Paris - on the same continent as Isaac and in the same city, but those two feet might as well have been a chasm. 

“You have a pack, Scott. A large pack with wolves, banshees, and kitsune - you don’t need me. What could you possibly need me for?” Scott stared at him with that doe-eyed, uncertain expression he always wore, but didn’t answer him. “And anyway aren’t you…”

“Aren’t I what?” Scott stepped forward, the tips of his shoes an inch from Isaac’s own. Scott’s dark eyes bore into Isaac’s. Isaac could see the tear drops of water that clung to Scott’s eyelashes, curls, and nose. He had a sudden urge to kiss them away, but stifled it down. 

Isaac shut his blue eyes, letting the world go dark, leaving Scott’s gaze behind for a moment. It was an old trick, one he picked up when the freezer walls became too small, when everything became too much. The rain was dying down, but he could feel the dampness in his hair, the spray misting his skin. It was peaceful in the dark, but he knew he couldn’t escape Scott for long. 

“Angry.” Isaac sounded tired, even to his own ears. 

“Angry? Why would I be angry?” Isaac’s eyes were still closed, so the sudden weight of Scott’s hand on his shoulder came as a surprise. Scott’s hand was so warm it flowed through him, radiating up his neck, easing his tension. That’s when he realized: Scott was taking away his pain. 

“Scott.” When Isaac opened his eyes, Scott was impossibly close. The lights from the river boats cast sharp shadows on Scott’s face, making his already handsome face look even more chiseled. From this distance he could hear Scott’s heartbeat over the lapping water. It was going at an even, but fast, pace. And his eyes - Scott’s eyes were looking directly at his mouth. Isaac licked his lips subconsciously and Scott’s eyes darted back up to his own. He couldn’t breathe. 

“Isaac, why would I be angry?” 

Isaac breathed deeply and evenly, two times, trying to calm his heart beat. Looking away, he answered. “Because, because of Alison. Because I…” 

“Stop. Stop right there. I don’t blame you for Alison, ok. Not for any of it. That isn’t why I am here.” Scott’s hand followed the curve of Isaac’s shoulder to his neck and his fingers secured themselves at the nape, turning his head so Isaac’s eyes met his. “You are.” 

Isaac broke. He could feel his eyes get large and watery. He knew what he must look like - his heart shining on his sleeve - but he couldn’t stop it. Scott smiled. 

“I think there is something here, Isaac,” Scott continued, a little less sure. “After Alison for me, and before Alison for you, and just before the darkness entered my heart, before I became an Alpha, before everything with Stiles last year - there was you. You believed in me and we had, I thought we had, I thought -” 

Isaac leaned down, capturing Scott’s lips in his own, the rain making the slide of their mouths easy and soft. Scott’s hand tightened in Isaac’s hair, making him gasp, and Scott took full advantage, slipping his tongue inside the warm heat of Isaac’s mouth. Isaac could feel every nerve ending in his body cry out. 

Scott’s tongue made one final pass along Isaac’s before sliding away. His lips met Isaac’s, softly nibbling once, twice before pulling away to look at Isaac. Scott must have seen something he liked, because his entire face lit up. 

Scott’s fingers tightened in Isaac’s hair, massaging his scalp. It felt so good, Isaac thought his eyes would roll back into his skull. He could definitely feel something stiffen uncomfortable in his pants. Scott chuckled. “Does this mean you are coming home?”

Isaac smirked and gave him a look that he hoped passed as sexy.“It doesn’t seem like you are giving me much of a choice,” he drawled lazily. 

“I am your Alpha.” Scott smiled, bringing his hand down from his neck to intertwine with Isaac’s fingers. Isaac squeezed Scott’s hand one, two and was answered back - three, four. “At least I didn’t have to go with Stiles’s plan.” 

“Stiles? Had a plan?” A plan that involved Scott kissing him? Scott had talked to Stiles? 

“Yeah, it involved me telling you that you were the prettiest wolf, clubbing you over the head and dragging you back to the States. I think he saw it as a declaration.” Scott winced at himself. 

“Is that what this is?” Isaac asked, finally brave. “A declaration?” 

Scott smiled, his teeth bright in the moonlight. “It is, if you want it to be. But we have a 16 hour flight to talk about that.” Scott leaned forward and up, kissing the rise of Isaac’s cheek. Kissing away a raindrop, Isaac realized. “Let’s just enjoy tonight first.” 

Scott’s warm breath ghosted over Isaac’s skin, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake. Isaac shivered. Somehow, he thought, this last night in Paris might just be the one to remember.


End file.
